


Sing A Song For Me

by wickedg



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Inappropriate!Uncle Brandon, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Starkcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedg/pseuds/wickedg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: When visiting his brother, Brandon comes across Ned's oldest girl trying to find her pleasure. It was only right for him to offer his help, right!?. If only his dear brother could see it that way, instead of attacking him for being such a caring citizen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing A Song For Me

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so you may have noticed that I posted this only to take it down-call it buyer's remorse, except for, you know, writing. Poster's remorse. That works.
> 
> Not much changed. Just, you know. Poster's remorse.

He knows that yes, this is _wrong_ , but watching her sweet pink lips whimpering out in frustration, Brandon really thinks that backing away in silence before she spots him would be the bigger crime.  
  
His niece. Ned’s _daughter_. And he’s found her leaning against a table in an abandoned room (the door was open-mostly), skirts hiked up, her coltish legs now firm and supple with light muscle, her hand working furiously under the gathered material, and if he-ah, yes. He can _smell_ her he realises with a groan, loud enough for her to freeze her hand, still her huffing breath, the soft skin (he imagines, oh he imagines) of her breasts almost spilling out of her dress, flushing an even deeper red that only those kissed by fire can seem to achieve.  
  
“Are you having trouble, sweetling?” he drawls, voice masking his thumping heart, hiding the cock twitching aggressively in his breeches, and most importantly, he can see the tendons in her arm twitching beneath the skin, betraying the movements of her fingers beneath her skirts.  
  
Oh yes, Brandon’s certainly aware of the effect he has on his niece and her little friend. He is the handsome older uncle, riding out to far away lands, and bringing her presents when he visits, bestowing his attentions on a young woman thrilled at the attention, the excitement that whirls around him whenever he rides North.  
  
He knows that that is all he is to her, a thrill, a handsome relative to giggle over and boast about, but by the gods, the thought, the _sight_ of her touching her sweet, wet cunt in front of him is almost too much, and he practically loses it when she eventually nods her head, a shaky jerk as her tongue darts out, a whisper against her parted lips, and it’s embarrassing how fast he crosses the room to her.  
  
She’s looking up at him with those wide, lust hazed bright blue eyes, and his hands rest gently on her waist, his touch delicate as he lifts her up to sit on the table. The rest of her body seems frozen in place, her legs splayed wide, her arm seemingly stuck in the vee of her legs, no where else it would rather be, he thinks, mentally agreeing with it as he finds himself between her legs, pulling her hand up and out of her skirts, gently kissing her wet fingers, even taking one in his mouth much to her squeak of surprise.  
  
Sansa can’t quite believe her eyes, can’t quite believe that it’s her handsome uncle beginning to kneel before her splayed legs, pushing up the rustle of her skirts and oh my, she can _feel_ his breath now and she’s fairly sure her heart’s about to stop, to give out, because this, she is sure, would be frowned upon by even Theon, and he’s probably the least virtuous person she knows.  
  
But even as she can feel a splinter niggling its way into one of her fingers, clenched tight on the table in attempt to keep balance, Sansa just wishes this...brings her somewhere she’s never been. And as a wet tongue suddenly drags itself slowly (oh so slowly) through her folds, she feels as though this might just be the day she finds what she’s been looking for.  
  
She lets out a loud moan, head lolling back as her legs grasp for purchase on her uncle’s back, short red heels digging into the flesh. He’s found something, she realises, and it’s a part of her she has yet to explore herself, but the way he’s suckling on it, tongue darting around it makes Sansa feel like she’s been lifted into the heavens by the Maiden herself.  
  
Gods be good, she is wet, and Brandon honestly couldn’t name a better vintage wine if you held a knife to his throat right now, for she is just as he imagined her to taste-like lemons, tangy and sweet, and as he slips a finger into her, feels how damned tight she is, he groans against her, vaguely aware of the thumping on his back, her delicious legs flailing around him.  
  
“Oh, but you are sweet, my dear Sansa,” And Sansa brings her hand to her mouth, a feeble attempt to still the sounds that want to escape, starting deep within her belly, being strummed into notes by her uncle’s tongue, his fingers, and oh, how she wants to sing a song for all to hear, but dimly knows she should not, not really.  
  
And so she hums a little, high, breathy, stilted noises that dance around the licks, the nips, the kisses her handsome uncle (her _uncle_ ) decorates her thighs with, adorns her sex with, something she is entirely sure her Septa would not approve of, nor her mother, nor her fa-  
  
Brandon is vaguely aware of Sansa’s legs flying up from around his shoulders, for a split second thinks the loud squeal that permeates the room is a natural response, but it is as he is being yanked by the neck back, away from the warmth between the young girl’s thighs, that he realises with an odd detachment that they have been caught.  
  
Sansa is nothing more than a wisp of flying red hair and blue skirts as she races from the room out of the corner of his eye as his brother, dear quiet Ned, slams him against the stoney wall, a sudden strength behind his actions Brandon never quite expected from his younger brother.  
  
“Ned,” he begins, unable to keep the dazed smile from his face, evidence of his wrong-doing (for it was wrong, he knows, he truly does) clear on his lips, his hair ruffled from his ministrations, and he has his defense all planned out, how it would have been even more sinful had he not intervened, showing the young maid how to accept pleasure from her future lord husband, but before he can blink, cock his head to the side, begin the charm his stoic, serious brother, the fist comes out of nowhere, and the world erupts in stars and bright lights as his brother steps back from him, his stormy, steely, furious gaze on him.  
  
“All right, I deserved that,” Brandon is saying, cautiously rubbing his jaw, quickly reminiscing on the days when his younger brother would or could never raise a hand against him, is about to give his brother his own thoughts of the subject, but when he gets the wind knocked out of him, the stars scattering into a billion more pieces as his head _clunks_ onto the stone floor, he thinks perhaps he should stay quiet, and possibly try his best not to let his brother commit fratricide.


End file.
